Prose and Poetry
by mycoverisgod
Summary: Castiel is seventeen years old, and already living in the past. After a relationship gone wrong in eighth grade and suffering two more years in a terrifying part of Detroit, Castiel is relieved to be leaving. He can't long escape his fears, however, and his hyper-vigilance may cost him.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Propped up against the pillows, Castiel spent another night sleepless, staring out of the large window beside his bed. It was all very nice in an odd way - this new house, this new town. He does like his new father, and he can't say that he doesn't enjoy the money that seems to shower down over himself and his mother. She certainly deserves it, he thinks, and they are by no means taking advantage of the fact that Kenneth enjoys giving them the things that they want.

Happy that his mother is happy, Castiel only takes the things that he needs and gratefully receives clothes that actually fit properly - new, untorn. He's pleased enough with this.

He'd been allowed to keep what he wanted to from their old life - which wasn't much. He kept his turntable, something they'd found deep in the basement of the house they'd inherited from Castiel's deceased father - along with several records. He kept his bed, which was comfortable, but worn and creaky. It was beautiful, he thought, the silver loops of the headboard and the delicate frame. He'd kept some of his sweaters and most of his dad's old ties, and of course he kept the small box of significant possessions that had been bitterly sweet or fond and important over the years.

Their neighborhood is interesting in the way that it isn't; it's perfectly boring. It's quiet and light outside, a streetlight standing guard a few feet from the end of their driveway. The road looks safe and every car that passes by seems almost polite, moving by almost soundlessly with the headlights dimmed as opposed to blaring; his room is swept with a soft beam of light for a few moments before the light fades and the wheels turn down the street.

Back at home - _not home,_ he reminds himself gently, _not anymore_ - a night or morning couldn't pass without hearing nearly an entire magazine being unloaded in the alley. Castiel can remember certain nights where he was forced to huddle down under his covers and listen to a stranger wail as he waited for the ambulance with them. Needless to say, Charlotte had been eager to leave.

Down the hall, either his mother sleeps soundly or peacefully watches the street with him, unaware of the fact that her son shares the same thoughts as she does; he wouldn't know, it's so quiet.

Castiel flinches as he's torn from his thoughts by the thumping bass of a car coming down the street, headlights bright. The car in question slows near their house, turning into the driveway across the street and parking. The music cuts and Castiel glances toward the clock on his wall - ticking quietly - it's nearly midnight. His bed creaks as he sits up a little taller, peering out.

He can't clearly see the other person with the way the light is cast upon them, but he can see the definitely-male outline helping a young woman out of the car. Castiel theorizes that the other man is about his age simply from his build and his posture, but he could be wrong. The woman is almost definitely his age, but Castiel gets the feeling that she doesn't live there, as she slumps against him and winds her arms around his neck. Castiel honestly isn't sure whether to be annoyed by this man's habits or if he should swoon at the idea of young love, but he feels absolutely no shame watching him wrap his arms around her waist and kiss her in a way that seems passionate, but also soft.

He hums softly, pleasantly, regardless.

"God," he breathes, propping his elbows up on the window sill and folding his hands under his chin, smiling softly. He feels a little selfish, asking for more than he's already been granted, but... "give me something like that, please."

Of course, he's almost sure that what they're doing has little to do with love, but he thinks God will know.

* * *

School is terrifying.

Or, well, it used to be. He'd always been the smallest back in Detroit, and his name was just begging for the bad sort of attention. He'd only really had one friend for nearly eight years, and that didn't turn out very well at all.

It's going smoothly, so far. He's made it from the office to his locker, and he has to admit he enjoys unloading all of his new school supplies into the large metal space. It's a lot bigger than he'd thought it would be; back in Detroit they didn't have lockers - too many problems, the school-board said. Honestly, Castiel is looking forward to not having to worry about back problems, and he really likes the idea as a whole.

Looking at the map of the school, Castiel highlights each of his classes with a green marker - boxing each room in neatly and placing a nice round dot right where his locker is. Posting it to his locker door carefully with a magnet for each corner, the teenager is pleased to find that his locker is directly in the center of each of his classes, and he shouldn't have a problem getting around.

So far, so good.

Castiel folds up his schedule and slips it into his wallet - putting that in an easily accessible pocket of his messenger bag and hitching that over his shoulder. He runs his fingers over the neat line of binders present, and pulls the pale red one from its place on the shelf first and slips it into his bag along with a composition notebook. He takes a matching red highlighter from the pencil case on the next shelf down and an orange mechanical pencil - 0.7mm lead, specifically - and closes the locker, jumping when he finds someone standing behind it.

"Hello..." he greets timidly as he spins the combination lock slowly - making sure it's locked.

The other man eyes him slowly, light brown, almost-gold eyes narrowed critically at him. His hair is slicked back and his arms are crossed, a ridiculously bright orange jacket catching Castiel's attention. "Y'ello," he strokes his chin slowly. "You part of the new delivery? Haven't seen you around before."

Castiel blinks at him slowly, taking a moment to process this. "New delivery...?"

"Yeah," the other boy says simply, uncrossing his arms and standing up to his full height - which isn't necessarily impressive. "As in," he pauses to brush his jacket aside and pull a pixie-stick from the pocket of his shirt, "you new? I haven't seen you 'round before - and believe me, I know everyone."

"Oh," pausing for a moment Castiel eyes the surrounding people. From what he's getting, this person is pretty popular. He doesn't want any extra attention, and he's not getting it. No one seems concerned with either of them. It takes the other boy clearing his throat for Castiel to snap back to his senses, remembering there had been a question asked. "Oh! My apologies - yes. Yes, I am."

"Cool, I'm Gabriel," he tips his head back and pours the sugar straight into his mouth, righting himself back upward before sticking his hand out to shake. "Or Gabe, Loki, Trickster - you know whatever. What'cha got first? I'll walk ya."

A little shocked, Castiel takes a moment to grasp Gabriel's hand and shake it. "Castiel, and - uh..." it takes him a half-second to remember."Spanish, Jackson."

"Whoa- really? Trippy. Look at us. Gabriel, Castiel. Spanish?" He elbows Castiel gently, chuckling and leading him off down the hallway. "¡Él ángel! Am I right?"

"Ah, yes."

Gabriel snorts. "Come on, it's a joke. You know, because both our names end in el and- you get it," he waves a hand dismissively, tipping his head back and pouring the rest of the sugar packet down his throat. Castiel watches for a long moment, and if he was still in Detroit - he'd think that possibly that wasn't just sugar. Then again, telling from the ridiculous way the man dressed and the way he appeared as a whole - he wouldn't doubt that Gabriel was something of a sugar addict.

"Allow me to take you to the angel wing. So far, it's just been me and Anna, so we haven't really been able to develop the joke past the two of us but you know - it's cool, we've gotta take advantage of that." Gabriel leads him over to the middle of the room by the windows. There are three desks in this group, one occupied by a pretty red-headed girl who smiles when Gabriel plops down next to her.

"Gabe!" She looks as though she's going to continue talking, mouth still open, but Gabriel interrupts her.

"The one and only!" He drums his fingers on the desk and pulls a zip-lock bag filled only with red skittles from his jacket pocket, handing them over. "How was your summer?"

"Good! I went to France with Rachel and Balthazar," she hums, happily taking the zip-lock baggie and tucking it into her purse, making sure it's well sealed first. "How was yours?"

Castiel meekly sits in the desk opposite Gabriel, on the other side of Anna, and folds his hands on the desk - settling in to watch the conversation.

"Great! I didn't do anything all summer!" Gabriel glances up as Castiel sits and shifts, tapping the desk and gesturing toward the blue-eyed teenager. "Anna, this is Castiel, he's new."

Anna rounds on him immediately, crossing her arms on the desk and smiling brightly at him. "Hi! I'm Anna Milton. Castiel, right?" he nods, expecting that she repeats the name strictly for pronunciation purposes. "That's pretty - how long have you lived here?"

"Thank you," Cas pulls his messenger bag up into his lap, shifting back against the seat. "It's only been a little over a month."

Gabriel offers a low whistle, crossing his arms on the desk in front of him. "Where'd you come from?"

"Illinois, originally. I lived in Michigan last, though."

Anna hums softly, interrupted from her next question by Mr. Jackson striding into the room, eyeing the students slowly with tired eyes and adjusting his glasses.

"Right then, good morning, today we're going to start with establishing the rules and the syllabus- all the easy fun stuff I'm sure you can suffer through, except the entire page," he holds up the syllabus for visual reference, "is in Spanish."

The class groans collectively.

* * *

Gabriel announces that he has to go over to culinary for two periods so Castiel and Anna bid him farewell on the way to their lockers. Anna's is a couple rows down from his, but she stays by his side as he works his lock open. "What d'you have next?"

"AP Biology," Castiel glancing up to meet her eyes as he speaks. "And then Physics after that."

Anna looks surprised, for a moment, before she just smiles a little wider. "Two sciences in one year? Over-achiever."

"Scientist," Castiel corrects, pulling a thicker pastel-green binder from his locker and replacing the pale red one. He switches out his highlighter and pencil to match the color of the binder - green highlighter, blue pencil. "What do you have next?"

"Math," Anna sighs, shoulders slumping.

Castiel blows out a sigh of his own as he sets his messenger bag down for a moment to pull off his coat, hanging it in his locker. "You have my pity."

* * *

The rest of the day isn't so bad.

He gets the first dosage of adolescent cruelty in his own math class at the last period of the day. Throughout the day teachers had called roll with no problem, but - seeing as his math class was far from 'advanced' in any fashion - he answers the call of his name and nearly the whole room turns to look at him, snickering. Maybe it's because the name sounds more feminine than most, maybe it's because they weren't expecting such a deep voice, or maybe it was just because the name itself was odd.

Castiel sighs and scans each face slowly, crossing his arms on the desk in front of him and looking away. He stays silent throughout the rest of the roll call, listening to the room around him.

"Yeah, of course Dean isn't here," a girl Castiel matches with the name 'Carmen Porter,' having listened more than he'd thought during the roll call. "He's probably out with Lisa. She isn't here today, either."

The other girl - who Castiel hadn't caught the name of - huffs softly. "Why're you still friends with her if their relationship bugs you so much? She has to have caught on to you being so jealous."

"We've been friends for ages," Carmen responds, tapping her nails against the desk. "And I'll have my shot sooner or later. Those two bounce between people constantly - I'm pretty sure this is the longest Dean's been in a relationship, like, ever."

The other girl shrugs, "Whatever - just be careful. There are dozens of girls that want him; he might get snatched up before you even hear about the break-up."

"Please," Carmen rolls her eyes. "I'll be the first to hear about it."

Castiel looks away when Carmen's gaze drifts toward him, wrapping the information in a nice little box and tucking it away for later use. He doesn't know any of these people - most of which have known each other since kindergarten - and gossip seems like the best way to get to know the area. It's the first day and all the class is really doing is talking- which of course means that all Castiel is really doing is listening. A nearby voice catches his attention and he shifts in his seat to listen more properly, eyeing Gordon Walker over slowly.

"Hey, you know that Corbett kid?" Gordon leans into his friend slightly, keeping the conversation 'secretive.' "Is he gay?"

Castiel's posture tenses slightly and he shifts away a bit, listening more closely.

"Yeah, I think so - I dunno."

"Eugh, gross. I have to share a locker room with that freak."

"He's on the basketball team?" The second party, at least, doesn't seem to be interested in this kind of talk, sounding disinterested as a whole. Maybe he's just working on filling out the beginning-of-school forms and whatnot.

"Yeah, and if he ever so much as looks at me he's not going to be able to shoot a ball for a week."

Castiel closes his eyes tightly, a brand of fear curling in the pit of his stomach alongside a flare of unexpected rage.

When the bell rings, a few minutes later, Castiel gathers his things up and fixes his eyes on Gordon. He watches him leave the room and - after a moment of thought- follows quickly.

"Excuse me," Castiel lays a hand on Gordon's shoulder, his stomach curling with the action, and for a moment he thinks he's going to throw up. "Excuse me."

"Yeah?" Gordon seems polite enough, unfortunately, as he turns around. He looks comfortable in his own skin, and Castiel just stares for a moment - considering his options. "What?" Gordon says after a moment, looking mildly freaked out. Castiel lets out a shuddering breath and shakes his head.

"Nothing, never mind. Sorry to bother you!" Castiel gives a friendly, slight-wave of his hand as he walks away, legs shaking as his feet move as fast as they can without running.

* * *

_You know how to ride a dirt bike, and you know how to do long division._

_And you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy unless he keeps his mouth shut - which is exactly what you didn't do._

On the other hand, Lucifer was his best friend and he trusted him. In Detroit, he was probably the only one that Castiel _could_ trust. Castiel had known that he was gay for a whole year, and kept it from Lucifer for exactly that long.

He still wakes up in the middle of the night caught between being terrified and incredibly regretful.

It's three thirty, which is close enough, and he's staring out of his window instead of sleeping, back pressed up against the pillows he'd pushed up against his headboard. The black impala from before is in the driveway across the street, having come home sometime between nine thirty and now, while he'd slept. He exhales slowly, heavily, and slumps.

He tries to reassure himself that Lucifer wasn't a bad person, or truly terrible. However, years of them getting into one form of mischief or another swam back into his mind and he realized vaguely in the back of his mind how horrible they'd both been to their peers, how their acts only continued to get more and more cruel. The realization has him breathing shakily and curling his hands into fists in the blankets.

As both an aspiring biologist and a boy raised by a strongly religious mother, Castiel is equally affected by both sides. He realizes that some things they're taught are against acts that are entirely natural and he uses that knowledge to excuse small things. He'd never admit - aloud - to touching himself as any person has the right to, but he has no regret in his mind to doing so based on religious views. He realizes that Lucifer had drawn him into a sort of false security, making sure that Castiel never felt as though he was betrayed or as though Lucifer wasn't being honest; Castiel is still sure, in the back of his mind that Lucifer had never lied to him. He realizes that Lucifer was genuinely his friend up until he became the target.

Guilt still floods over him, though. All of the horrible things that they'd done to other people. Castiel had thought of it as a game, and he'd never fully realized exactly what he'd done.

"God," he gasped, covering his face with his hands. "_God._"

He can't choke out the words '_forgive me,_' still not entirely convinced that he deserves it.

* * *

Castiel wakes up to the sound of his alarm clock going off only an hour and a half after he'd managed to get back to sleep. He opens his eyes, his ceiling swimming into view, and groans softly. He doesn't feel rested at all, and half-considers just going back to sleep. It's only the second day of school, though, so he pushes his blankets off and slips out of bed.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes and yawning, the teenager's fingers clumsily catch on the box holding his records on his dresser. It's plain, cardboard, and torn in several places. The records are in good enough condition, though. He pulls one out slowly, drawing it out of its case with a careful hand and placing it on the turntable, starting it up.

Castiel pushes his pajama pants down, baggy blue and green plaid, and tosses them into the empty laundry-bin - his boxers following shortly after. He pauses for a moment to rub his eyes with the heels of his palms before rummaging through his drawers for a pair of acceptable clean underwear, pulling them on over his thin legs and nearly stumbling as he does so. Pulling off his shirt and tossing it into the bin, Castiel moves to his closet and reaches up to pull the string for the light.

After spending a few minutes trying to teach himself how to tie a tie again and finally getting it right, Castiel rolls up the sleeves of his plain white shirt to his elbows and shoves a sweater into his messenger bag. Glancing at the clock he realizes he has nearly an hour to spare. He silences his turntable, and returns his record to its sleeve. Carefully, he replaces the record in the tattered cardboard box before turning off the light in his closet and the light in his room and going downstairs.

He loiters in the kitchen for a long moment, looking between the fridge and the window and the cupboard before - shaking his head - he starts back into motion. He takes a mug from the cupboard - which he still remembers making himself at a birthday party no one showed up to, his mom making him laugh and helping him paint it - and decides to try and figure out Kenneth's death trap of a coffee machine. He's cautious as he approaches it, the machine looking expensive, worried about breaking it somehow.

Eventually he's sitting down at the island counter on a bar stool, a warm coffee cup cradled in his palms and the smell of vanilla filling the kitchen. He managed not to break anything, and is seriously considering utilizing that microwave to heat up the grilled cheese they'd had at that nice restaurant for dinner. He may leave the house a little behind schedule, but he feels better.

Just as he's heading out the door the Impala across the street roars to life. Castiel frowns and slows as he walks down the sidewalk and the Impala pulls out. The driver sweeps the street with his eyes before they land on Castiel and the teenager bristles slightly. Watching from afar was different from being watched entirely, he could deal with the former, but the latter made him uneasy and skittish. The other boy raises a hand in a wave before pulling off and heading out toward the school.

Castiel exhales slowly, watching him go. He stands there for a minute longer after the Impala disappears - heart still pounding - and sets off toward the school himself.

"You don't seem like the type to be late," Anna teases softly when Castiel sits down in their Spanish class.

Tearing open a packet of candy orange slices, Gabriel chuckles, "Yeah, you seem like the type that gets a little anxious when they're late for class."

"Slow morning," Castiel excuses, yawning and holding out his hand expectantly. Gabriel glares for a moment before dropping a mere four slices into Castiel's hand. Satisfied, the teenager bites one in half. Anna holds out her own hand and Gabriel casts Castiel a look as if to say, '_now look what you've done._' Castiel brushes the look off with a small smile.

Anna and Gabriel chitter, bouncing teasing remarks off of each other and talking about common gossip. They occasionally glance at Castiel, but he waves a hand at them as if telling them to continue; content to just listen to them talk.

Walking past the gym on the way to Biology, Castiel freezes as he sees Gordon Walker with his forearm pressed against some boy's throat. It's like the moment in a video-game when the screen goes black and white behind white text that tells you that you have a choice. You can ignore the event to save yourself, and let this boy suffer alone, or you can go in there and risk your own well-being to save him. After a moment of debate, imagining the bruising that will no doubt start appearing on his own skin, Castiel takes a deep breath.

After being the instigator - under Lucifer's thumb - he owes it to the world.

"Hey!" Castiel shrugs off his bag, tossing it out of the way and briskly walking forward. Gordon's bigger than him, stronger than he is, but it isn't that hard to pry him off of the other boy, and use his unbalance and weight to push him over. He glances over at the boy against the lockers, concerned. "Corbett, right?"

Corbett nods slowly, wetting his lips and staring at Gordon. "A-Alan, Alan Corbett - yeah."

Gordon starts to get up and Castiel considers taking Alan's arm and pulling him away - running from the man that they both so obviously fear at the moment. Instead he breathes in deep and pats Alan's shoulder. "Go, I'll deal with this."

Alan obviously seems concerned, which is understandable; he has to deal with Gordon for the rest of the year, being on his basketball team. When he sees the pure rage in Gordon's form, however, he swallows thickly and gives Castiel a look filled with gratitude before he races off.

"What the fuck was that?" Gordon asks, clearly angry, crowding up close to Castiel. People walk by in the halls with only a glance in their direction, uninterested, but they're developing a small audience.

Castiel shudders, his jaw clenching. In the moment he's allowed he thinks of small, yappy dogs that will chase you all the way to the end of the street. They're loud and somewhat frightening, but so much smaller than you are. Their only defense is to make you think that they're bigger, that they're more of a threat. Castiel taps into that himself - or tries to - and lifts his chin, eyes narrowed. "One's sexuality is absolutely none of your business, _sir_."

"Excuse me-?"

"_I said:_ it's none of your business whether he likes girls or boys. _Lay off._"

Gordon huffs, narrowing his eyes, "It's plenty my business if-"

"_It's none. Of your. Business._" Castiel insists, stepping forward. Gordon steps back as their chests bump together and Castiel takes it as a small victory. "He doesn't care what you look like. All he cares about in that gym," Castiel points, "is basketball. Don't even get me started on the fact that you two are a _team,_ along with everyone else in that locker-room. He's supposed to trust you because otherwise how will you win? Put your beliefs or whatever is making you act like a _common caveman_ aside and _deal with it._"

Gordon raises his eyebrows, crowding forward and pressing Castiel back against the lockers. "_Deal with it?_ That _was_ me dealing with it and if _you_ want to _get dealt with-_"

"You can abuse someone all you want," Castiel raises a hand to press his index finger against Gordon's chest, pushing him back and stepping forward, returning them to where they'd been before, "and it's never going to change who they are. I swear to God, Gordon Walker, that I'm not going to let this happen and if I catch wind of this ever again I will hunt you down." Castiel narrows his eyes. "And believe me, I will if it happens."

Gordon shakes his head, rolling his eyes and turning away. "Whatever-"

Castiel's hand shoots out to grab his jaw, turning his face back in his direction and meeting his eyes with cold, steel-y blue ones. "_Yes, sir._ That's what I want to hear."

Gordon huffs, "If you think-"

He's silenced by Castiel gripping his jaw even tighter and shifting forward. "_Yes. Sir._"

Gordon stares for a moment, seeming to debate it, before swallowing thickly and relenting. "Yes, sir."

Releasing his jaw, Castiel nods. "Good."

Gordon walks away hastily and Castiel watches until someone claps him on the back. He jumps nearly out of his skin, bristling, and turns only to find the man with the Impala across the street grinning at him. He holds out Castiel's messenger bag for him, and Castiel takes it with slightly-shaking hands. _His eyes are so green._

"Dude, that was awesome."

Castiel wets his lips, taking a small step back. "What was- oh. Oh, thank you, I guess. I- I decided something needed to be said."

He offers his hand and Castiel slowly takes it. "I'm Dean. Dean Winchester."

"Ca-Castiel," he doesn't know what he's more caught up in, the beautiful shade of Dean's eyes or the grip of his hand, the light shading of freckles that have to be all over him. Castiel clears his throat. "Castiel Novak."

"What d'you have next?"

Castiel blinks at Dean slowly, wide-eyed, frowning. "Pardon?"

"What d'you have next? You know, like, classes?" Dean doesn't seem to be judging his lack of knowledge as to what he was referring to, more patient than anything.

"Oh, um. Biology. AP Biology, Hammond."

"Cool," Dean pats him on the shoulder again and gestures in the direction of the science wing. "Come on, I'll walk you."

_You could drown in those eyes._


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The water seems to go on forever. It's clean and clear enough to see the bottom. Fish that swim more than ten feet down seem as though they're right under your feet. Their jeans are rolled halfway up their legs and their feet are dipped in the water, and small fish swim up to nibble at their toes.

A squeeze on his hand calls Castiel's attention and he looks to where their closely pressed thighs meet, finding a hand wrapped around his own - fingers curled together. He looks up, breath catching when he realizes Dean is looking straight back at him.

"Hi," Dean's mouth makes a small, affectionate smile around the word and his eyes are half lidded. Dean turns their hands over so Castiel's is facing upward before bringing it up to his mouth, kissing his knuckles. Castiel's toes curl in the water and he his throat closes tightly; he can't breathe, and he's feeling lightheaded. Dean lets go of his hand and wraps his arm around his waist instead, leaning in to kiss his jaw, breath ghosting over his neck.

"H-hi..." Castiel chokes out as his hand seeks out a place to put itself. His fingers land on Dean's knee- where he expects to find the rolled up cuff of his jeans but instead finds a smooth waterproof material. He freezes, eyes slowly opening and fixing on the red trunks that are now pulled over Dean's legs.

His lungs are screaming for air and he slowly raises his eyes up, trying to gulp in breaths of air-

Instead of locking onto green eyes with flecks of gold he meets pale blue ones, almost grey in color. Their surroundings have changed, too, and instead of sitting on a dock they're sitting on the edge of the community pool. The hand on his back moves to his neck and his head is forced under water.

Blinking up at the ceiling slowly, Castiel takes a moment to process what happened. His room is still dark and his sheets are sticking to his skin. He peels them off and slowly slips out of bed. He tries to breathe slowly, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. The teenager walks across the room to his door, pulling it open and starting down the stairs- barely wincing as each floorboard creeks under his weight.

"Castiel?"

Stilling, Castiel gets the feeling that he used to get when he snuck out of bed as a small child, tempted to either hide and not make a sound or race back upstairs and jump into bed. Instead, he composes himself and slowly enters the kitchen. "Mama?"

Charlotte is wrapped up in a plush robe, hands wrapped around a coffee mug that Castiel vaguely remembers painting with her on his sixth birthday. Despite the still-recent memory of his dream, he gives a small smile at the sight. She smiles back and gestures him over, pulling him into a one-armed hug. Even up on the high bar-stool in front of the island counter, his height rivals her own. "What's up, honey? Why're you up so late?"

"Bad dream," Cas murmurs, wrapping his arms around her and pressing a kiss to her forehead, pulling the nearest bar-stool closer and hopping up on it. Just as he does, Charlotte slips down and shuffles in her slippers over to the cupboard to take out another mug and a small plate. She pours milk, honey, and vanilla into the cup and pops it in the microwave before taking a box of vanilla wafers from the cabinet, arranging a handful on the plate and leaning across to put it in front of her son.

"Want to talk about it?" she asks as she pulls his mug from the microwave and sets it in front of him, pulling herself back up onto the bar-stool, sipping from her own mug.

"No," he answers immediately, wrapping his hands tightly around his mug and slowly blowing over the top of it. He feels a little bad being so curt with his mother, but if she minds he can't tell.

Charlotte is silent for a moment before she speaks again, sounding worried. "Was it about... that boy again?"

Castiel hesitated before nodding, taking one of the wafers from the plate in front of him and dipping it in the hot milk, biting it in half. Charlotte tentatively lays a hand on his arm - he only twitches, not much of a flinch. "Honey, look at me." He does, meeting her worried eyes - brown, nothing like his own. "He's all the way back in Detroit. He doesn't know where we are, either." She raises her hand to pat his shoulder. "You're _safe._"

_No, I'm not._ He responds silently, the only tell of this the furrow of his eyebrows and sad eyes.

* * *

"Well if it isn't Clark Kent," Gabriel grins at him, handing over a bag of candy orange slices just as Anna is tucking her red skittles into her bag. Castiel is a little shocked by it, and takes the bag with slightly-shaking hands. "How's it goin', Superman? You don't look too good."

"Make a kryptonite joke and you're dead," Anna orders, pinching him teasingly before turning on Castiel, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Seriously, though, are you okay? You look really..."

"Shitty," Gabriel supplies. Anna slaps his arm and he flinches away, rubbing the spot - even though it couldn't have possible hurt that bad through his genuinely hideous purple sweater. "Hey!"

Castiel watches the exchange with an orange slice between his teeth, bitten in half. He chews and swallows thoughtfully as Gabriel and Anna bicker before laying a hand over Anna's forearm. "Anna, really. It's alright. I've just been having a few bad dreams lately, that's all."

"D'you wanna talk about them?" Anna ask. Gabriel stays silent, looking to Castiel for an answer to this question as well as he strips another strand of Laffy Taffy from its wrapper. He looks just as worried as Anna does, his near-constant humor put aside for the moment.

"No," he replies curtly, biting an orange slice in half. Gabriel raises his hands up, eyebrows lifting.

"Alright, alright. Forget we asked."

* * *

Castiel flies through Biology without many worries and moves on to Physics, not having to stop by his locker to collect anything - seeing as his two science classes share the same binder. He's a little shocked to see Dean when he gets there, not realizing that they had the same Physics period. Seeing as they had free seating, he may have rushed over to sit next to him as Dean had done the previous day when he recognized him in English class.

"Hey," Dean grins as Castiel sets down his binder, shrugging his nearly-empty messenger bag off his shoulder and setting it near the leg of the science table. "You have Physics this period, too?"

"Hi- um. Yes, I do," Castiel creates words a little clumsily, not prepared for this conversation that he'd initiated by sitting down. "I didn't realize that you did, though. You weren't here yesterday. Or- well- in here, this classroom."

Chuckling sheepishly and crossing his arms on the table in front of him, Dean lifts his shoulders. "Yeah, I kind of cut the first couple of classes to sort out a few things with my girlfriend. Or, ex-girlfriend, now. I was walking by when you tore Gordon a new one, but I didn't actually start attending until fourth."

"Oh." Castiel processes this for a moment before speaking. "I'm sorry about that," he's really not. "So..." Castiel gives a small smile, hoping to lighten the mood a bit. "I guess there's no hope of you having the same fourth period, too, miraculously?" He's worried for a moment that he sounds too flirtatious - overly conscious - but Dean just laughs.

"Sorry, man. I've got football." Castiel has to admit he's a little disappointed by that. While the sport fits Dean's body type, he can't help but think that it wouldn't well fit his personality. He couldn't picture Dean sitting at a table with a bunch of other men in lettermen, couldn't picture him interacting with people that Castiel has avoided after countless bad movies from the 1980's.

"Ah, well that would explain why you came into English class looking like you'd run a mile."

Dean's nose wrinkles and Castiel has to mentally restrain himself from both leaning forward to kiss it and leaping straight to the adjective 'adorable,' instead straying toward 'endearing' which isn't much better in retrospect. "More than a mile. Have you ever been in a sport?"

"No, not really." There had been a hellish period in seventh grade when Castiel not only participated in a rather trying, horrible athletics class, but also discovered he was gay at the same time. It certainly made time in the locker room difficult, and he wouldn't be repeating that again. _Ever._

Dean knocks his shoulder against Castiel's and suddenly he feels warm all over, a smile tugging at his lips. "Good, it's torture."

* * *

"Dean's in my third period." Castiel isn't sure why he thinks this is a good conversation starter, but he can't stop it from spilling out of his mouth and he's rewarded with a little eyebrow raise from Anna - who's hanging upside down from a lovely tree they'd found in the courtyard, her hair almost catching fire with the sunlight showering down on her. He crouches and angles the camera, snapping a few pictures.

"He's cute, isn't he?" Is the first thing Anna seems to be able to think of to say, allowing herself to tip off of the branch she was hanging off of, still hanging onto it with her hands as her feet stretch to hit the ground. Castiel snaps a picture of her back, that way, her arms stretched up over her and still clinging to the branch, the toes of her shoes just barely brushing the ground. His heart is pounding and he's trying to think of something to say that's not 'yeah' or 'adorable is a more fitting word.'

"Do you like him?" Is what ends up coming out of his mouth. Not as possessive as he expected it to be, simply a question - an inquiry.

Anna seems to consider this, turning to hang with her front facing the camera, curling her legs up behind her to swing slowly. Castiel snaps a few more pictures and she drops down, flipping her hair in an attempt to get it to part the right way and raising a hand to fix her bangs, her eyes meeting the lens of the camera as she does so. Castiel snaps a few more pictures. "I know what beauty is," she says instead of a straight 'yes' or 'no.'

She takes the camera from him and he walks around her, climbing up into the tree and shifting to stretch his legs up the trunk of the tree, lying with his back flat against the branch with his body at a ninety degree angle. Anna huffs a soft laugh and he gives a small smile in response. He hears the shutter of the camera, despite her amusement. "What'd you talk about?" She asks, and he's a little surprised that she immediately assumes they talked. He doesn't bother pointing it out, just slipping off the branch of the tree and steadying himself against the trunk of the tree, balancing on the edge of one of the stone benches circling the large trunk and keeping his feet perfectly aligned one in front of the other - looking down at them.

"We talked about our class schedules, and the incident with Gordon the other day," Cas looks up at the camera and Anna immediately takes at least five pictures of him. Shock coming over his face and his head tilting to the side just slightly in question, she takes a few more. He presses his lips together, a little confused, but dismisses it and turns to hold onto the tree branch with both hands, leaning against the trunk of the tree. She snaps another picture.

"Walk out to where I was hanging before and try to hang onto the branch while keeping your feet on the ground," she orders. He does so and she snaps a few more pictures. "Back to the camera," a few more, "front." She pulls her eye away to click through the pictures on the display screen. "I heard about that, but most of it was along the lines of a 'nerdy little white boy tearing Gordon a new one.' I never actually got what it was all about."

They meet at one of the benches to put the camera away in its case. "I'd heard Gordon talking about this boy the day previous- talking about... beating him up, or something, so I lectured him on sexuality," Castiel's lips pull into a small smile. "I think what shocked most of the, uh... audience was that I made a man almost twice my weight in muscle address me as 'sir.'" Maybe it was a bit of an exaggeration - Gordon wasn't that much bigger than he was.

Anna looks up at him, shocked, before giggling. "I guess I can see why Gabriel's started calling you Clark Kent."

"I don't," he murmurs, mostly to himself, as they walk back to Mrs. Hays' room.

* * *

Castiel tries to convince himself that it's because the field is so close that he decides to jog over to receive Dean from his fourth period and - ah... escort him to fifth. _It's on the way,_ he tells himself as he briskly walks at least ten meters _out of the way to do so._

Dean's chest is heaving and his backpack is thrown over one shoulder with his jacket and his flannel shoved into it, still sticking out of where the bag isn't completely zipped closed. Castiel shifts his weight and watches him until Dean seems to catch sight of him, pausing for a moment before jogging over to meet him. "Hey, Cas," he sounds surprised and Castiel's eyes widen at the nickname. Despite himself, a smile pulls at his lips.

"Hello, Dean," he moves over to Dean's right side, walking a little closer than is really considered necessary and shifting the camera on his hip. Dean smells amazing even though, logically, Castiel realizes that he's covered in sweat. Regardless, he has the unexplainable urge to make a nest out of Dean's clothing and just roll around in them.

_You're being ridiculous,_ he tells himself.

"So how was football?" he asks, not even having to feign interest as he walks alongside Dean, stepping up onto the sidewalk with him as they make their way back into the main building and off toward the English and History wing. Castiel's locker is along the way, so he's not too worried about being detoured by Dean's route.

"Eh," Dean grunts, shrugging. He shifts to the side slightly and points at the camera on his hip. "You on yearbook or something? Photography?"

Castiel shakes his head, steering Dean along toward his locker as it comes into sight. "Digital Art. Anna and I are experimenting with lighting and we might add some things to the photos." He shrugs a shoulder, spinning his combination lock.

"Anna, like, Anna Milton?"

Cas is surprised at the same time that he isn't, glancing up at Dean as he opens his locker door. "Yes, Anna Milton."

Dean stares at him for a second, thoughtfully, before he seems to blurt his next words out. "D'you think I could see the pictures? When you're done with them."

Castiel feels a knot developing in his throat, his eyebrows pulling together slightly as he folds the strap of the camera's case neatly, gingerly setting it down in his locker and takes his messenger bag off the hook, slinging the strap over his shoulder and taking his composition book from the second shelf, sliding it into his bag and taking out the proper highlighter and pencil - along with a pen. "That's... entirely up to Anna," he decides, closing his locker door and shifting his gaze back to Dean.

"What about the ones of you?"

Castiel stares at Dean for a long moment, his hands shaking slightly, twitching and curling around the strap of his messenger bag. Dean looks like he wants to take the words back, for a moment, and swallows thickly - opening his mouth to speak again-

"Sure," Cas interrupts, the beginning tones of the first word Dean was going to speak dying in his throat with a rough sound in the back of it. "I mean- yes. Of course, if you want them. I don't... I don't mind."

"Cool," Dean grins easily and maybe it's just him feeling the warm, fuzzy atmosphere and his mind is still buzzing with the fact that _Dean wants pictures of him._ Granted, he asked for pictures of Anna first but… "Come on, let's go," Dean lays a hand on his shoulder and steers him off toward their English class, the arm stretched across Cas' shoulders pushing him along.

* * *

"Wait, you live across the street from us?"

Cas glances at Dean, raising an eyebrow slowly and shifting his grip on the lunch tray in his hands, scanning the tables outside slowly. "I do. Your car is admirable." He frowns, fixing his eyes on a boy sitting alone at his table – looking over to where Anna and Gabriel sit. Gabriel spots him and grins, waving him over, but Castiel shakes his head and nods to the boy's table. After a moment of confusion realization dawns over Gabriel's face and he gives a thumbs up. Nudging Anna, they both gather up their things and move over to the boy's table. Castiel follows.

"Yeah, she's my baby," Dean says, after watching the exchange, following him. They sit on the only entirely empty bench out of the three encircling the circular table, across from Anna and Gabriel, leaving the third solely to the initial occupant.

"Your car is your baby?" Castiel takes a moment to process this before adding: "Your car is a she?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "Well, yeah. My dad taught me to drive in that car, and then gave it to me on my last birthday."

"Dean, he's just not going to understand the intimate relationship between a man and his car," Gabriel shakes his head slowly, looking at Castiel with faux (Castiel hopes ) pity in his eyes.

The scruffy boy that they'd taken the table from clears his throat. "Excuse me, but can I ask why you're sitting here?"

"Of course," Castiel turns to face him properly, pausing after popping the cap to his bottle of Snapple off. "I decided that I wanted to talk to know you, and you didn't seem otherwise occupied talking with other people, so I directed my…" Castiel struggles for a word, gesturing to Gabriel, Anna, and Dean, "friends over here. I was going to finish the conversation I'd started prior, however." He raises an eyebrow at Gabriel. "I believe it's over now, seeing as my masculinity's just been injured."

"Please," Gabriel rolls his eyes. "You don't even know who Clark Kent is."

"I know that you seem to like referring to me as him," Castiel sneers, huffing and looking back to the scruffy boy, who has his eyebrows raised at them. "I'm Castiel, this is Dean, Gabriel, and Anna." He gestures accordingly.

"Chuck," he offers, looking between them. His shoulders sag slightly. "It's going to take a little while to get used to you guys."

"You have however long you need."

Apparently all Chuck needs is the thirty minutes of their lunch hour. Maybe it has a little something to do with the way he's looking at Anna – (the way that everyone looks at Anna. Even Castiel has to admit that she's gorgeous.) – Maybe it has to do with Gabriel's snorting laughs and Dean's full-body infectious, loud laughing. Either way, he's laughing along with them. Castiel counts it as a win.

* * *

The walk home is peaceful, although he almost gets hit by two different cars on two separate occasions when he spends too much time staring down at his camera; mainly the picture he'd taken of Dean in the school parking lot, leaning against his Impala with the afternoon sun hitting him _just_ right and _God_ he was beautiful.

When he gets home the Impala isn't in the driveway yet. In the back of his mind, Cas wonders why before shaking his head and walking up the pathway to his front door. Kenneth isn't home yet, obviously, but his mother should be.

"Hey, Mama!" he yells as he enters, toeing off his shoes. "I'm home!"

Charlotte pokes her head in from the kitchen and grins. She looks almost childish even though she's pushing forty. She's shorter than he is and at a glance no one would be able to tell that they were related. She was blond with light brown eyes, paler than he was and much, much shorter. In fact he looked more like Kenneth. It would make sense, if Charlotte hadn't strayed for her taste for men like his father – tall, black hair and blue eyes. Kenneth hit two of those three criteria, so Castiel is willing to bet that he's right.

"Castiel!" she waves him away, hands gripping the frame of the archway to keep herself upward as she leans out to look at him. "Go, go! Don't come in here. I have a surprise and it isn't finished yet." She holds up a finger, telling him to wait, and disappears for a moment only to reappear with keys in her hand, throwing them at him. "Go! Go for a drive or something, get to know town! Don't come back for a little while!"

Charlotte comes around to push him out of the house and onto the front porch before disappearing back into the house. Castiel still has his messenger bag on and his camera is still gripped in one hand. He stands there dumbly for a long moment, just frowning to himself. After a long moment of just doing that he tucks the keys to his mom's car – new, something Kenneth got for her – into his pocket and sits on the swing.

The front porch is small, and the swing is too, but it's cozy. He sways, kicking his legs and rocking the swing back and forth with a gentle creak each time. The wind blows and he shivers, looking over across the street to where Dean's car is now parked, at some point having found its way there while he was still talking to his mom inside. He thinks it odd that he didn't hear it, but brushes that off. Slipping his messenger bag off of his shoulder and leaving it on the swing, he picks up his camera and walks across the street almost without thought.

He moves alongside the car, eyeing it slowly and watching the sun as it slowly made its way down the sky. He frowns and unpacks his camera from its case, crouching beside the car and shifting along to get the right angle.

He doesn't know how long he spends just moving from one place to another, taking pictures of Dean's car, but eventually a voice startles him out of it. "Uh, what are you doing?"

Cas looks up quickly, nearly flinching, eyebrows raised, wide-eyed. A boy – probably about twelve, young – is staring down at him looking mildly freaked out and _yes, that would make sense_ Castiel reasons as he stands. "Uh. Hello, I'm Castiel. I'm a friend of Dean's, kind of. I was just…" Cas wets his lips, gesturing toward the car with his camera. "Bored," he admits softly. It's a wonder how a boy so much younger than him can instill so much misplaced shame – (it's not like he was doing anything wrong, I mean maybe he's being a little invasive, sure, but… )

"Oh," the boy stares at him for a moment before offering his hand. "I'm Sam, Dean's little brother."

Oh. _Oh._

Castiel takes a hold of his hand and smiles. "Oh, it's nice to meet you. Dean talks about you a lot."

He half expects Dean to wander out of the house at some point, interrupt and be delighted to see him, but it doesn't happen. Instead he sits there with Sam near the impala and talks with him. He shows Sam the pictures on his camera and the younger boy openly laughs when he sees the picture of his brother.

"What're you gonna do with these?" he asks when he calms down a bit.

Cas hadn't thought that through at all and, taking the camera back and clicking through the pictures for himself he frowns. "Maybe I'll take up scrapbooking."

Sam laughs harder.

* * *

By the time he wanders back home the sun was setting and clouds were rolling in. He takes his bag from the swing and opens the door. He hears his mom – still busy in the kitchen – and cautiously ventures forward.

"Is it safe to come in now?" he asks, hovering near the archway. His mother seems excited even though it seems he's a little late, bouncing on her heels. He barely has time to set the keys down before she's rushing over to grab his hands and pull him over to the island counter. She seats him and goes to the fridge in what Castiel would describe as a scurrying motion. She pulls a cake from the open, spacious fridge and sets it down in front of him. He stares at the cake for a long moment before he realizes that she's cutting it, setting a piece down in front of him. It's red velvet with cream cheese frosting.

He frowns, looking up at her and tilting his head. "What'd you do?"

She frowns right back, and that nearly makes him smile but he's more curious than he is amused. She puts her hands on her hips. "Do I really have to _do _something to make my son a cake?"

"Not if it's my birthday," he replies quickly. "And that was last month."

She can't hold her expression for long, and soon she's smiling. "I'm pregnant."

He stares for a long moment, eyebrows raised. "Oh."

"Oh?" she echoes, sounding unimpressed. "I want more of a reaction than _oh_, sweetheart."

"That would explain a few things," he says, trying to keep his voice light and innocent. She smacks his arm anyway.

Friday comes and goes uneventfully and he's left burying his face into his pillows Saturday morning, happy to be able to sleep in and basking in the ability to just roll around in his bed at nearly two in the afternoon –okay, not exactly Saturday morning, but he just woke up so it counts. He props himself up on his elbows to look out of the window, watching the street. A fuzzy feeling develops in the pit of his stomach when he realizes that the neighborhood is actually busy. People are mowing their front lawns – Dean included – and birds are chirping.

It's happy and beautiful and Cas sighs, smiling to himself and burying his face into his pillow again. His curtains are drawn back, open, and the sun is pouring in over his back and warming him, warming his blankets through the glass. He's warm and sleepy and a teenage boy so he rolls onto his stomach and stretches out languidly.

He dozes for another hour, blissfully unaware to the fact that he didn't have any sort of bad dream the past two days. He doesn't notice it and doesn't need to.

The buzz of the lawn-mowers and weed-whackers lulls him to sleep.

* * *

**A/N: **I would apologize for taking so long, but to be quite honest this is probably going to be a regular occurrence.


End file.
